<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The stages of missing Newt Scamander by Sipsthytea</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170443">The stages of missing Newt Scamander</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea'>Sipsthytea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grammander Works [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Established Relationship, Five Stages of Grief, Hurt Original Percival Graves, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I am begging you, M/M, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, This Is Sad, hes so cute, im sorry, someone please get this man a hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:00:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But he just laughed it off, scoffing, and walking away, ignoring the calls of his name. Why should he listen? It was absurd. To think that he’d believe them. It was laughable, it really was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mr.-Mr. Graves,” Goldstein whispered, a hand coming up to tug at his jacket, “We all understand if you need time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He glanced at her, eyes shooting upward, “Why would I need time? Has something happened?”</p>
<p> ——</p>
<p>The five stages of grief, grammander style</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grammander Works [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The stages of missing Newt Scamander</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! I hope you enjoy this, I really hate this fic, it’s so bad I’m so sorry. But I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>STAGE ONE: DENIAL</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The effect was almost immediate, a sharp pain that quickly spread throughout his chest. A numbness that worked its way up to his toes and dug at his soul. Evil roots that spread through his heart, infecting all the sunshine, all the good memories. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he just laughed it off, scoffing, and walking away, ignoring the calls of his name. Why should he listen? It was absurd. To think that he’d believe them. It was laughable, it really was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr.-Mr. Graves,” Goldstein whispered, a hand coming up to tug at his jacket, “We all understand if you need time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at her, eyes shooting upward, “Why would I need time? Has something happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The brunette stammered over her words, “B-But, Mr. Graves, y-you know-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He interjected, tone going flat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman looked exasperated and confused, her eyes scattering, not quite meeting that of Percival’s. It was her sister, Queenie Goldstein, who pulled her away, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves,” she blurted, voice thick, “Tiney’s had a bad day.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s quite alright, Ms. Goldstein, nothing wrong with that,” he looked to his watch, “Oh, I’m afraid I must take my leave, a very important day today,” he smiled, turning away from the woman and making his way to his office. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Today certainly was a big day. It was his 5th wedding anniversary with Newt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>STAGE TWO: ANGER</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stalked into work, shoulders tense, briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bullpen eyes him carefully, stepping out of his way as he marched to his office. Nobody met his gaze, no one questioned him. His word was final, his decision was final. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is terribly done,” he said, eyes scanning those of one of his detectives, “Truly pitiful, I expect better, understand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-Yes, sir,” they answered, spine straightening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, now, go rewrite it. I expect it on my desk before you leave,” He concluded, turning to the other reports that sat at his desk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“W-Well, sir, I was actually hoping for the chance to leave early. You see, it’s my wife’s birthday and I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have the audacity to ask for early dismissal when you hand in a shit show of a report?” He deadpanned, voice cold, “Get out of my face,” he spat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They scurried out of his office, tail between their legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Percival just sighed, a hand slipping down his face. As it fell, he caught sight of something, a glimmering ring on his finger. The silver band was simplistic in design, nothing too special but the engraving. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Within the ring, it said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Newt, I give you my soul.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It caught the light of the sun that danced in through his windows. It made the ring gleam, but to Percival, that gleam was blinding. He stood quickly, harshly shutting his blinds, busying himself once more with paperwork. He ignored the small voice at the back of his mind; it fed him common sense, but he only responded with rage, with anger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s all he felt. He only felt hatred and frustration, irritation and fury. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But in the depths of the fire that burned within him was the oncoming coolness, the wave of freezing water that threatened to spill over, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>spilling over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>STAGE THREE: BARGAINING</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Graves family heirlooms were prized possessions, sealed away from the world in the vault, guarded by wards and spells. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those same ancient rings and diadems that gleamed up at Percival had been in his family for generations, for centuries, but he was more than willing to give them away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d give all I have,” he whispered, slowly trailing his finger across the shining surfaces. The power thrummed beneath his fingertips, decades of magic and wisdom stored away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All I have, all I am,” he begged, head falling, “I’d give anything for one more day...one more hour...just one…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the raven was only met with silence, ear-shattering silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one day.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I only need one day…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>STAGE FOUR: DEPRESSION</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It hurt, it hurt so badly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Breathing hurt, it burned. The simple inhale and exhale shattered all in its path. Setting the simplicity aflame and replacing it with complexity Percival has never known. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Moving hurt, his limbs turned to lead. Arms and legs uncoordinated, moving minimally. The constant itch for movement and excitement slowed, coming to a shuddering stop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everything hurt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everything burned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The days had grown empty and lonely. Objects around him held sense but no actual presence, colors held visual but no life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was dark. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This looming void bloomed open in his chest. Its dark talons threatened the sunshine, the warm memories of him. It rained constantly, the thud of droplets a broken record that played on repeat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Some days he’d cry, others he didn’t have the strength to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why won’t it stop hurting?” He questioned, the ring on his finger heavy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why won’t it stop hurting…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It never seemed to stop, nothing he did seemed to make it stop. There was too much pain and not enough solutions, too much sadness and not enough sunlight. He felt as if he was drowning in sorrow, but he no longer wanted to fight. He no longer had it in him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so dark...it’s so very dark…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>STAGE FIVE: ACCEPTANCE</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was December 12, two years since the death of his husband, Newt. Two years of pain and anger, denial and sadness. Two years of struggling to breathe in the depths of depression, of forcing his eyes open in bouts of denial, of reigning himself in the fits of anger, of clearing his head of deals and promises. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That wasn’t to say he was healed. No, to this day, he still sat in bed, clutching onto his hand. The silver band on his finger was cold, but it was beautiful. He no longer hated the light that gleamed from it, he no longer hated looking at animals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He no longer hated the color yellow or red. He no longer despised the very same things Newt showed him to love, he no longer hated himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been very troublesome,” he said, sliding his hands across the smooth granite, fingers ghosting over the lettering, “Very troublesome.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air was still, calm, but there was also a surge of warmth that ran through him. It drummed through his palm, buzzing through his ring. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But that’s alright, I have grown accustomed to your ways, Newt,” he stooped down, pressing a soft kiss to the headstone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘IN LOVING MEMORY OF NEWTON ARTEMIS FIDO SCAMANDER.’ It read words elegant and neat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Newt,” he whispered, voice catching, “I give you my soul, so long as you accept it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wind sang, a beautiful melody of silence and warmth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes,” he muttered, a smile pulling at his lips, “Of course, I love you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy Anniversary, Dear,” he gently lay the buttercups on the tomb, gliding his fingers along the stone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, the wind sang joyous harmonies of peace and tranquility, a subtle whisper of ‘I love you too.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed!! Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it 🥰</p>
<p>Don’t be shy leave me a comment:)</p>
<p>The comment can be about anything, your thoughts, corrections, or things you’d like to read in the future. (Small psa comments, no matter how small, keep me motivated and inspired. So, no pressure 😅)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>